


Between Friends

by Laylah



Category: Baccano!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Okay," Firo says. "Tell me how this feels, okay? I asked Ennis, but she couldn't really explain it." He reaches up and slides his fingers into Luck's hair, the palm of his hand against Luck's forehead. Luck closes his eyes. Even without the promise of sharing forbidden knowledge, it feels illicit, intimate, vulnerable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Friends

"So if I'm...doing something weird," Firo finishes, rolling his glass of whiskey back and forth between his hands, "I'm not sure if it's really me, okay? I keep catching myself thinking things and noticing things and --" he's blushing, isn't he? -- "wanting things I didn't use to."

"I'll do my best not to hold it against you," Luck says. He can't help smiling a little; he can tell Firo's nervous about this, but really. With as long as they've known each other? "It sounds interesting, honestly. I would think -- the chance to have that much life experience, to have seen so many things...."

Firo smiles, and if it looks awkward it's only slightly. "Figures you'd say something like that."

"Can you show me how it works?" Luck asks.

"What," Firo says, "you mean...now?"

"Why not?" There's nobody else around tonight; Keith and Berga were over earlier, for dinner, but they have homes and families of their own to go back to. Firo's...Ennis is somewhere else, possibly with those bumbling thieves. Luck didn't ask, when he showed up without her. It's just the two of them in Luck's apartment, with a bottle of whiskey that doesn't seem up to the task of getting immortals drunk, and the wind whistling through the dark Manhattan streets outside the window.

Firo looks at his hand, turns it palm-up on the table. "It's the same kind of thing as when I ate Szilard. You'd be really vulnerable."

Luck shakes his head. "You aren't going to eat me, Firo," he says. "You're still my friend. I don't believe any extra memories could make you forget that."

"Thanks," Firo says. "You're a lousy mafia boss, Luck, but you're a good friend."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Luck says. He wonders if he should tell Firo what they did with Dallas Genoard's gang, wonders if Firo will be able to simply pull the thought from his head. "Will you do it, then?"

"If you really want," Firo says. He pushes back his chair.

"I do," Luck says. He gets up from the table and Firo does, too, stepping up to meet him. Firo's still shorter than he is -- always will be, now, and that's a strange thought; Luck's gotten used to teasing him about it, used to Firo's protests that he's _going_ to grow up taller, it's just that Luck has two years' advantage --

"Change your mind?" Firo asks.

Luck blinks. "No," he says.

"You were looking at me really funny there," Firo says.

"It's nothing," Luck says. "Just still getting used to the idea of immortality, I suppose." He smiles, tries to relax and not think too much about how close Firo is. They've...tried a few things together, once or twice, but Luck is always the one to start it and Firo never mentions it afterward.

"Okay," Firo says. "Tell me how this feels, okay? I asked Ennis, but she couldn't really explain it." He reaches up and slides his fingers into Luck's hair, the palm of his hand against Luck's forehead. Luck closes his eyes. Even without the promise of sharing forbidden knowledge, it feels illicit, intimate, vulnerable.

Then Firo opens the connection between them, and for a moment Luck is breathless. The rush of thought and memory hits him the way the liquor hadn't been able to -- he feels warm, tingling in his limbs, lightheaded, and then he sees: _a lady in a dark dress with a full hoop skirt walks through a doorway, into a room whose walls are lined with books, and is greeted by a man in a satin waistcoat; the smell of old paper and burning lamp oil is comforting, somehow -- there's a field of bright yellow flowers, nodding in the breeze, and the sun is warm on his face; "I think I could be happy here forever," he hears himself say, but does not know the language he speaks -- he breathes in a heavy, sweet smoke that leaves him feeling weightless, and hands off the long-stemmed pipe to another man; his own hand is gnarled and dark -- he's trembling, not with fear but with anticipation, on his back in a narrow bed, and there's a man kneeling between his thighs; there's just enough light for him to see the man's face, and it's Maiza Avaro --_

The connection breaks suddenly as Firo pulls away, eyes wide. "Sorry!" he says. "I didn't mean for, um, that last one to be in there. I -- I don't really have a lot of control with it yet."

"Was that one of your memories?" Luck asks, before he can help himself.

"No!" Firo says. He's blushing. "I've never done that at -- no. It wasn't."

"It's nothing for you to feel embarrassed about, then, is it?" Luck says. He makes himself smile, because he doesn't want this to become any more awkward. "Surely you don't think you've shocked me. And I promise you I'll keep Maiza's secret, just like -- just like you've always kept mine."

Firo nods briskly, like they've concluded a business deal, and then stops. "Wait, you -- you mean you would do _that_?"

Luck looks down. "I hope that doesn't cost me your good opinion," he says. They've never gone anywhere near that far with each other; they've had their hands down each other's trousers a few times, for the thrill of feeling someone else's touch instead of their own, but Luck has never deluded himself into thinking that Firo wanted more than that.

"No. One of the things that I'm really learning with all these extra memories is that people do a _lot_ of weird stuff for fun," Firo says. He sounds so casual about it, so calmly _Firo_, that Luck dares to look up at him again. "It sort of seems like it would hurt, though."

"Sometimes," Luck says. "Does it hurt in that memory?"

"That's all there was to it," Firo says, shaking his head. "You know how it gets hard to remember clearly how things happened when you were little?" Luck opens his mouth, and Firo adds, "Unless you're Claire," before Luck can say it. "This is like that, except that it's two hundred years ago instead of ten." He shrugs. "I know a lot of stuff if I don't think about it, but a lot of the memories are fuzzy, especially the old ones."

He's not going to be able to tease baby-faced Firo about being the young one anymore, Luck thinks.

"You're doing it again," Firo says.

Luck arches one eyebrow. "Doing what?"

"Looking at me like --" Firo shakes his head. "I don't know. Like you're sorry about something. You should be happy, Luck! Nothing's changed except for the better."

"You're right," Luck says. "We've...been very fortunate." It shouldn't surprise him, for Firo to be less concerned about his inversion -- about _everything_ \-- than he is himself. But it still takes all the boldness he can muster for him to say, "If I'd known you would be so open to the idea, I might have asked if you were interested earlier."

Firo blinks at him for a moment in surprise. "You want me to do that stuff with you?"

If it really goes that badly, he'll have plenty of time to make amends, won't he? "Yes," Luck says.

"Wow," Firo says, but he's still smiling, like he's more surprised that Luck would ask than at the idea itself. He looks Luck up and down consideringly. "Me doing it to you, though, okay? I'm not so sure about the other way around."

"It's good both ways," Luck says, or at least it can be, and he's not about to show Firo a bad time.

"So you won't mind," Firo concludes, and Luck almost laughs. He can't stay nervous, not when it's Firo, not when Firo acts like it's no more of a big deal than where to go for dinner.

"I won't mind at all," Luck agrees. He cups his left hand around the nape of Firo's neck and leans down to kiss Firo's mouth.

He tastes whiskey, for a moment, and then just the wet softness of Firo's mouth opening for him, and Firo leans into the kiss with such confidence it takes Luck's breath away. What would he have been like before? Was he always so certain of himself, or has he learned that along with everything else? It's like kissing two dozen people at once, Luck thinks, two centuries' worth of need in the familiar shape of his best friend.

When he lets go, there's a light in Firo's eyes that's warm, intense, _challenging_, and Luck shivers. "This way," he says as he steps back, toward his bedroom. Firo's smiling as he follows.

It's been longer than Luck wants to think about since -- no, he should stop that; he shouldn't think about things that'll only make him melancholy. Firo is here with him now, and wants to do this, and that's something to be happy about. Luck strips off his clothes, smiles a little when he sees that Firo -- as he always suspected -- just drops things in a pile on the floor rather than try to find somewhere to hang them up. "You must drive Maiza crazy," he says.

Firo blushes. "You think so?" he says. "I hadn't really thought about -- you think he wants me, too?"

That wasn't what he meant, Luck almost says, but then he stops for a moment to actually _think_ about how Maiza dotes on Firo, and -- "I wouldn't be surprised," he says. "But let's not talk about him right now, okay?"

"Jealous?" Firo says. He drops his trousers, totally unashamed, and grins. It's hardly the first time Luck has seen another man naked, but it's the first time with Firo, and he can't help staring a little. Firo is lean, almost lanky in comparison with Claire's endless-hours-of-acrobatics muscle, but he's sleek and lithe, and he climbs into Luck's bed with no hesitation.

"Firo," Luck says, and then isn't sure what he wanted to say. He slides into bed and reaches out, pulls Firo close to be able to feel bare skin on skin. Firo is warm all over, skin smooth and taut under Luck's hands -- no scars to mark him, and now there never will be; he'll be this perfect for centuries. Luck bends his head to taste Firo's skin, the arch and hollow of collar bone, and Firo laughs.

"That tickles," he says, holding on to Luck's shoulders.

"You're not giving me a very good reason to stop," Luck says, and does it again, so that Firo twists in his arms and pushes against him -- hard, God, lean muscle and cock hardening and -- Luck seals his mouth to Firo's and kisses hungrily, deeply, dizzy with the chance he's been offered. Firo kisses back hard, bites at his lower lip, and Luck shivers.

When Firo pulls back, his eyes are dark, and he's still smiling. "So how did you want to do this?" he says.

"Here," Luck says, "let me -- let me get ready." He rolls over, pulls open the drawer in his bedside table and finds the jar of vaseline that's been there since the last time Claire was home for a visit. His hands are shaking when he unscrews the lid, and he hopes Firo won't notice. He slicks his fingers and reaches down between his legs to prepare himself. Firo's watching him, and his face heats as he presses his fingers inside himself.

"What's it feel like?" Firo asks softly.

Luck smiles. "You can't remember?" He doesn't expect an answer, but Firo shakes his head, without looking away. "It's...strange," Luck says. "It always is." He shrugs one shoulder awkwardly, tries to push deeper. "Maybe an immortal would have time to get used to it eventually, but...I don't know. Yet." He licks his lips. "It's good, though. Tender. Hot."

"You make it sound really good," Firo says. He reaches down to wrap a hand around his own cock, stroking slowly, watching Luck move. Luck wonders suddenly if Firo has ever had sex with _anyone_, male or female, and then whether that's even a meaningful thing to ask if he can remember what it felt like for dozens of other people to do it.

"It is," Luck says, and only realizes how much that sounds like boasting when Firo grins at him for it. "Come here and see for yourself." He withdraws his fingers, spreads his legs further. They'll do it like this, like in Firo's borrowed memory, with him on his back.

Firo rocks forward on his knees, crawls up to position himself. "Just like this?" he says. The head of his cock is blunt and hot.

Luck takes a deep breath. "Push," he says, and lets his breath out as Firo does. His own impatience stings a little at first, but that fades fast, and then there's just the welcome strangeness and heat of Firo's cock filling him. "God," he whispers.

"Yeah," Firo agrees, like other people's memories hadn't prepared him for it at all, "wow." He holds still for a few seconds, just breathing hard, and then slides one knee forward like he's trying to get better leverage. It makes him sink deeper, and Luck moans. "You really like it," he says.

"Move," Luck answers, and rocks his hips to try to encourage it. "Yes. It's -- it's easier now, even." Firo pulls back a little and rocks forward again, and Luck lets himself make more noise. "With a body like this."

Firo's breath is shaky, and his thrusts shallow, barely pulling out. "It feels good," he says, and Luck isn't sure if it's a statement or a question. "Me fucking you."

Luck nods, in either case. "Yes," he says. He pulls Firo closer with his left hand, reaches up slowly with his right. Time enough for Firo to react, if he wants to. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," Firo says, and leans forward, into the touch. His hair is damp with sweat. Luck rests his palm against Firo's forehead, closes his eyes, and thinks, _Firo, I want you to know what this feels like_. He focuses on the heat and fullness, the friction of Firo's cock moving inside him -- and Firo gasps. "Oh," he says. "Oh. _Luck_."

Luck smiles, but doesn't open his eyes, so he's not prepared for it when Firo's hand comes to rest against his forehead, too, and then the rush of Firo's sensations floods his mind, his body, so he's feeling not only his own pleasure but Firo's at the same time -- not only the heavy full ache, but the tight slick heat -- and he's breathless, feeling every thrust twice over -- his lips part and it's Firo who moans, and he can barely stand it, this dizzying cascade of sensations -- he can't even tell which of them it is who's so close to finishing, so needy, so -- and it's both of them, setting each other off, shuddering and gasping, and Firo dissolves into giddy laughter as they finish and he collapses on top of Luck.

For a minute Luck doesn't even want to move, just wraps his arms around Firo's back and holds on loosely. He can feel the beat of his own blood under his skin, thrumming, hurried. He's a sticky mess, but right now he can't make himself care.

Eventually Firo shifts, and props himself up on his hands. "I should move, huh?" he says. "I'm probably crushing you."

"Only a little," Luck says. He lets go, so Firo can pull out and collapse to the bed beside him. His legs shake a little as he stretches out himself, but the ache in his hips is already almost gone. He stares up at the ceiling, wonders if he should go get a washcloth or something so they can clean up, decides he doesn't want to move just yet.

"Luck," Firo says. He sounds like he's still a little out of breath. When Luck looks over at him, he's smiling. "In five minutes let's do that again."

The laughter wells up in Luck's chest, before he can think to restrain himself. He rolls over, throws a leg over Firo's hips and pins him to the bed. He _feels_ immortal for once, unstoppable, giddy as he matches Firo's smile with his own. "Why wait that long?"


End file.
